


In the Shadows

by Kivusa



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Hawkecest, Incest, Inquisitor Carver Hawke, M/M, Sibling Incest, Slash, Slow Burn, Warden Carver Hawke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-13 10:20:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4518135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kivusa/pseuds/Kivusa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carver Hawke was at the Conclave when it exploded, leaving him as the Herald of Andraste and eventual Inquisitor. Having to abandon his duties as Grey Warden in order to close the breach he learns what it takes to be a leader and what it's like to have the responsibility of the world resting on his shoulders. It's a good thing his brother is there to support him through it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Wrath of Heaven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! This is my first fanfiction in a VERY long time, so I'm more than a bit rusty, but we'll see how it goes! As you can see from the tags this story will contain Carver Hawke/Male Hawke sibling incest. Sorry if that’s not your cup of tea, but for some reason it IS mine. However, this will not be pwp. There should be some plot in here once things get moving along, and I plan for the romance to be a slow burn so they won’t, like, see each other and be right at it or anything haha :) They’ve got things to work through I think.
> 
> I’ve got some idea of where this is going and what the plot will involve but I’m still kinda making it up as I go. I’m trying to write the sort of story I want to read.
> 
> Right now it’s following closely to Inquisition, but once things get started it might start to branch off.
> 
> I’m starting the rating out at Mature but it could rise to Explicit later. Just fyi.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now.”

Carver blinked, looking down at his manacled wrists. His left hand burned with magic that had flared only a moment ago. He couldn’t remember how he’d gotten it or where he was. There was a faint ringing in his ears and he felt as if he’d fought through a hundred darkspawn. The woman was circling him while her friend stood off in front of him, watching quietly. His skin prickled under the watchful eyes of the soldiers surrounding him.

“The Conclave is destroyed,” she continued. “Everyone who attended is dead. Except for you.”

Carver’s mind was scrambling. He didn’t know what was going on. Memories were sluggishly resurfacing in Carver’s mind. He had been at the conclave, the Wardens had sent him to keep an eye on the proceedings and maybe gather advisers about—

The woman had lost patience waiting for an answer. She bent over him and yanked on his wrist. “Explain this,” she growled at him. His marked hand flared up, green light flashing and sparking, sending a flare of heat up his arm. He grit his teeth at the pain.

“I-I can’t,” he said, stumbling over the words, reeling from the pain the flair up of magic had caused, throat dry and burning. He eyed the woman. She looked like a warrior—not a Templar judging by her armor but likely connected to the chantry in some way. The large eye on her breastplate spoke of religious significance.

“What do you mean you can’t?” The woman asked angrily.

“I don’t know what that is, or how it got there,” Carver said as calmly as possible, not wanting to rile the woman up any further.

“You are lying!” she snapped, lunging for him and grabbing his shoulders. She was suddenly pushed back by the other woman who hadn’t yet spoken.

“We need her, Cassandra,” The woman said, turning back towards Carver.

“What do you intend to do with me,” Carver asked.

“Do you remember what happened? How this began?” The quiet woman seemed to be taking over for now. She seemed to be more reasonable than her counterpart, Cassandra—less quick to anger.

The fastest way to get out of this situation would be to cooperate. He thought back trying to remember what happened before he ended up here.

“I remember …running. Things were chasing me, and then… a woman?” Carver furrowed his eyebrows trying to pull the memories to the forefront of his mind but they were reluctant, like he was dragging them through syrup.

“A woman?”

“She reached out to me,” Carver continued, “but then…” There was nothing else. Then he woke up here.

“Go to the forward camp, Leliana.” The first woman, Cassandra, said. “I will take him to the rift.”

“What has happened?” Carver asked. He didn’t like being left in the dark and he was confused and angry. He tried to tamp down the anger because it wouldn’t help him in this situation.

“It will be easier to show you,” Cassandra said cryptically.

She lead him outside, the dim winter light causing him to wince after the darkness from before. Once his eyes adjusted he looked up in the sky where Cassandra was looking. There was a huge, green …tear in the sky. Boulders and rocks floating up in the green haze as green light streaked from the tear, sailing down to the ground.

“We call it ‘The Breach.’” Cassandra said quietly. “It’s a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour.” She turned back towards him. “It’s not the only such rift. Just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the conclave.”

“An explosion can’t do that.” Carver said, suddenly remembering how Anders had blown up the Chantry building back in Kirkwall.

“This one did.” Cassandra stated. “Unless we act, the Breach may grow until it swallows the world.”

As soon as she said that, the Breach flared up and the magic in Carver’s hand did as well, green light exploding from it. A scream tore itself from his throat as he fell to his knees, pain lancing up his arm. It took seconds for the magic to settle once more, leaving Carver panting.

“Each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads,” Cassandra said, hovering over him, “and it is killing you. It may also be the key to stopping this but there isn’t much time.”

Carver didn’t have a choice. If this mark on his hand could truly stop this ‘Breach’ he was practically duty bound to do it.

“Lead on.”

Cassandra lead him through the little village, talking about the Divine that was now dead and how the people (ignorant people ready to place blame on the first available suspect) held him guilty for what had occurred. They left the little village and ended up at a bridge where she released his wrists.

“There will be a trial, I can promise nothing more.” Carver had nothing to say in response.

“We have not seen many Grey Wardens in this area,” Cassandra noted, glancing down at his breastplate which bore the Grey Wardens symbol, as they walked across the bridge.

Carver grunted, rubbing his wrists. “I was sent to observe the Conclave and bring back word on the result.”

Cassandra eyed him, still suspicious. “We must test your mark on something smaller than the Breach.”

She lead him along the bridge and down the path on the other side, obviously knowing where to find this smaller rift to test his mark on. The mark flared up again, bringing him to his knees mid-step. “The pulses are coming faster now.” She noted shortly.

“The larger the breach grows, the more rifts appear, the more demons we face.”

“How did I supposedly survive this blast?” Carver asked.

“They said you…stepped out of a rift, then fell unconscious. They say a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was.”

Carver mulled over her words and tried to match them with his memories. He did indeed remember a woman, and being somewhere strange but the memories were fuzzy and distorted. He couldn’t bring them to mind clearly.

“Everything in the Valley was laid to waste,” she continued. “Including the Temple of Sacred Ashes… I suppose you will see soon enough.”

He followed her to the next bridge. Halfway across a green streak of light hit the bridge and it crumbled beneath them. Demons.

It hadn’t been long enough since he last fought demons. But now, instead of being called through the veil by mages they poured into the world freely. Cassandra rushed off to dispatch one of them and Carver grabbed a nearby greatsword dispatching one that rose from the ground right next to him.

“Drop your weapon!” She yelled, sword trained on him.

“I would be hurt or worse if I didn’t grab this,” he snapped. “I need to protect myself.”

She slowly lowered her weapon. “You are right, I cannot protect you,” she agreed, not sounding very happy about it. “I should remember that you came willingly.”

“A Grey Warden does not run.” Carver replied.

They walked along the frozen river, taking out a couple more demons. They were winding slowly in the direction of the breach. Carver wondered who would do this, why they would do this. What could someone gain from tearing the veil wide open and letting demons pour forth?

“I never asked your name,” Cassandra said. They were nearing the end of the river.

“Carver Hawke,” Carver said offhandedly, watching ahead. He thought he saw a couple more demons—

“Hawke?” Cassandra asked in surprise. Carver blinked and nearly walked into her where she had frozen staring at him in unguarded shock. “Carver Hawke—The Champions brother?” Carver grit his teeth at her words. That was one thing he hadn’t missed for a single second since he became a Grey Warden.

“What of it?” He bit out.

She studied him for a moment, seeming almost beyond words. “I have been looking for The Champion,” she said. “I had found his autobiographer, but he claims he does not know where The Champion is. He said his brother had become a Grey Warden but what were the chances—”

“Hold on,” Carver said. “Are you talking about Varric?”

“Varric Tethras, yes,” she confirmed. “Of course you know him. Varric mentioned you often in his…story.” There was distaste in her voice.

“Why do you want my brother?” Carver asked quietly, narrowing his eyes at her, measuring her. Templars were likely out for his head, not to mention the head of any apostate, and Carver would die before giving his brother up. Not that he could give his brother up—he didn’t know where Garrett was at the moment. He hadn’t seen him since the fiasco at Kirkwall months ago. All he knew was that Garrett was in hiding, sensibly keeping a low profile. If he was captured he would be made an example of to the other mages.

Cassandra blinked at his change in tone and stance, she took a step away from him. “We need him.” She said passionately. “He is the most capable person for what we need and I have been tasked to track him down.”

Carver didn’t know what to make of her answer, which hadn’t actually answered much. But, he decided she didn’t mean harm, and from what he’d seen of Cassandra thus far he didn’t think she could convincingly lie to save her own life.

“I don’t know where he is,” he told her.

Her face closed itself off once more, any shock and hope melting away into the stony expression that seemed to be normal for her. “It matters not at the moment. The Breach is our immediate problem, we can deal with other matters later.”

After clearing out some more demons they moved away from the river toward the sound of fighting. There were soldiers battling a number of demons that had come from a green tear in the veil, it almost looked like a doorway and he could even see into the fade, a twisted landscape. He threw himself into battle cutting down the demons with the other soldiers. This he could do, this he was used to, whether it be darkspawn with the Wardens, or demons with his brother, this is what he was accustomed to.

When the last demon fell someone grabbed his hand yelling, “Quickly! Before more come through!” His hand was thrust up towards the rift and burned as magic poured forth connecting with the rift. Power coursed through him like electricity and after a few moments the rift disappeared in a ripple of green energy. Carver yanked his hand out of the strangers grip, his hand throbbing with each heartbeat.

“What did you do?” Carver asked, turning on the man—elf.

“I did nothing. The credit is yours.” The elf said. He noticed the staff on the elf’s back. A mage.

“You mean the mark.” Carver snapped.

“Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand,” The elf said. “I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach’s wake—and it seems I was correct,” the elf concluded, sounding pleased.

“Meaning it could also close the Breach itself,” Cassandra said, appearing at Carver’s shoulder.

“Possibly,” the elf allowed, focusing on Carver again. “It seems you hold the key to our salvation.”

“Junior!” Came a familiar voice. “Fancy meeting you out here.”

“Varric,” Carver greeted turning to him. It was almost calming to see Varric with Bianca strapped to his back, a single piece of familiarity in this otherwise chaotic situation.

“I’m sure you’re not here for the calming green sunsets,” Varric chuckled, making his way toward them.

“No,” Carver agreed. “It’s good to see you,” he said, surprised at how much he meant it.

“You as well, Junior,” He drawled. “It’s good to know someone can close those things. Thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever.”

That startled a chuckle out of Carver, the tension from before loosening some. Varric quirked a smile.

“You know this dwarf?” The elf-mage asked.

“We were friends back in Kirkwall,” Varric said. “Now, are we going to move down to the valley yet or stay here and chat while demons piss out of the sky?” The elf curled his lip at Varric which seemed to have been the reaction the dwarf was counting on if his smirk was anything to go by.

“Absolutely not,” Cassandra said, rounding on Varric. “Your help is appreciated, but—”

“Have you been in the valley lately, seeker?” Varric said, cutting Cassandra off. “Your soldiers aren’t in control anymore. You need me.”

Cassandra stared Varric down for a moment more before moving away from him with a disgusted grunt.

“My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions,” the elf said. “I am pleased to see you still live.”

“He means,” Varric cut in, “‘I kept that mark from kill you while you slept.’”

Carver nodded to Solas in thanks.

“Thank me if we manage to close the breach without killing you in the process.” Solas said by way of reply. “Cassandra,” he said, turning towards her, “You should know: the magic involved here is unlike any I have seen. I find it difficult to believe that your non-mage prisoner would have such power. Or even a mage, for that matter.”

“Understood,” Cassandra said shortly. “We must get to the forward camp quickly.”

Carver watched her and Solas move ahead.

“Well,” Varric said, moving around him, “Bianca’s excited.” He winked.

By the time they made it to the Temple of Sacred Ashes they had faced many more demons, a grand cleric bent on getting Carver executed, and gone through an old mine in the mountains while soldiers acted as a diversion for the demons.

Carver took in the destruction of the temple around him. He couldn’t imagine the kind of power it would take to do this sort of damage, even Anders blowing up the Chantry hadn’t managed this level of destruction. People burnt to stone where they had stood and crumbling stone walls were the only signs a temple had stood here at all.

The rift in the center of the crater was enormous and above it was the breach, giant pieces of earth and stone swirling lazily overhead among the green light. Leliana showed up right behind them with some much needed soldiers. There wasn’t a demon in sight.

As the soldiers took up position throughout the ruins of the temple Carver, Varric, Cassandra, and Solas made their way into the temple, circling around, trying to find a way down into the center.

 _ **“Now is the hour of our victory. Bring forth the sacrifice.”**_ A voice rang out through the temple making everyone freeze.

“What are we hearing,” Cassandra asked, a tremor in her voice.

“At a guess,” Solas muttered, “The one who created the breach.”

They slowly began to move once more around. Carver wasn’t liking this one bit. He was used to demons, he was used to darkspawn. He was not used to doorways to the fade, voices speaking out of nowhere, and having magic burnt into his hand making him the only one who could stop it all.

And then they went around a corner and there was red lyrium growing out of the ground, shards twice as tall and taller than himself. He had a very bad feeling about all of this. He caught the tail end of the conversation the others were having.

“Magic could have drawn upon lyrium beneath the temple—corrupted it.” Solas guessed.

“It’s evil,” Varric growled. “Don’t touch it.”

Carver shivered at the red glow of the stuff, remembering the red lyrium idol he, his brother, Varric, and Anders had come across in the deep roads. He heard about what had happened to Varric’s brother and had seen first hand what it had done to Knight-Commander Meridith.

 _ **“Keep the sacrifice still.”**_ The voice rang out again.

_“Someone help me!”_

Cassandra gasped. “That is Divine Justinia’s voice!”

Carver was feeling more than uneasy. The magic was so thick here he could feel it rolling across his skin, the mark on his left hand pulsing with his heartbeat. They finally found a way down into the center when the Divines voice rang out once more with the same plea.

Followed by Carver’s own voice, inquiring as to what was going on.

“That was your voice,” Cassandra said, stating the obvious. “Most Holy called out to you, but…”

Carver didn’t move his eyes from the rift above them.

Suddenly a vision appeared before them, showing them Divine Justinia, bound with magic, Carver running into the room, a shadowy figure ordering Carver’s death. At the visions end Cassandra was upon him.

“Is what we are seeing true?”

“I can’t remember,” Carver snapped at her, angry. He looked back up at the rift which remained quiet.

Solas advised that the rift needed to be opened before it could be closed. Of course. Nothing could ever be easy. Carver turned to the rift, raised his hand and the magic burst from his palm connecting to the rift. As soon as the rift opened a pride demon shot out of it, at least three times as tall as Carver and ugly as all demons were, too many eyes, horns, clawed hands, and deadly to boot. The first thing it did was laugh at them.

Carver charged the demon.

The battle was long and bloody, him and Cassandra working in tandem while Varric, Solas, and the archers provided long range support. At the end of it Carver wiped blood out of his eyes and downed a healing potion (courtesy of Cassandra), his sword dripping with gore that steamed and burned away, leaving the weapon clean. He turned towards the blasted rift, raised his hand and let the magic connect, fist slowly curling closed. The rift disappeared with a loud explosion of energy that rippled up towards the Breach and across the sky.

The mark on his hand exploded and Carver fell to his knees for the third time that day a scream ripping itself from his throat. The pain was electricity traveling through his body. He fell to his side, sheer agony shredding through him, every muscle taught, not even able to hear his own voice that rang out through the ruins of the temple before everything went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the first chapter! Again, I know this followed the game really close but it should start to loosen up as the story progresses.
> 
> I’m trying to keep everyone as in character as I’m able to. I feel like I might have the most trouble with Varric because of his humor but I think I did okay so far. It’ll be a challenge!
> 
> This story isn’t beta’d. I did my best to proof read but if you saw something please let me know! And don’t be afraid to point out any inaccuracies!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	2. The Herald

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was majorly changed 8/9/15!! The changes start when they get to the Hinterlands about halfway through the chapter.

Carver was…unnerved.

It was, after all, an uncommon occurrence to be treated like some sort of savior. Seeing all those people gathered around him as he made his way through the little town of Haven, soldiers with their fists pressed to their shoulders, people whispering and not quite making eye-contact—the same people who had mentally sentenced him to guilt only days before, no less—it was all very…strange. Awed whispers of ‘Herald’ and ‘Andraste’ had followed him since he’d woken.

Unnerving.

He didn’t believe any of it. He knew it in his bones that Andraste or the Maker had nothing to do with his surviving the blast. Him having the mark on his hand, even—it was all just coincidence. And, if his past was anything to go by, this coincidence was unlikely to make his life any easier.

If the Maker would let Bethany die, would let his mother die, would let everything that had happened in Kirkwall actually happen, then the Maker would not get involved with anything in this world. If the Maker cared about this world at all Carver would be dead and Bethany would be alive and that was the end of it.

Carver scrubbed at his face trying to listen to the others around the war table, planning their next move. The whispers in his mind were being difficult to ignore. He wished he’d gotten a chance to consult the mages before the Conclave exploded. If the Wardens had only been more concerned with their own affairs instead of monitoring the mage-templar conflict, he may have been able to get the advisers they’d needed and get out of the Conclave before it exploded. They could be figuring out why the hell all the Wardens were hearing the Calling.

“Carver?” One of them asked. “Is everything all right?”

“Fine.” He growled, shoving the whispers away.

“Right,” Cullen said. Carver had been surprised when he’d seen Cullen, surprised further when he wasn’t wearing his templar armor. Cullen had been just as surprised to find out Carver was the ‘Herald.’ Carver wondered how Cullen had dealt with lyrium withdrawal. Or if he hadn’t dealt with it at all, perhaps finding it illegally. He didn’t ask, but he did wonder; he’d heard the withdrawal was often deadly.

After deciding that they needed to contact Mother Giselle in the Hinterlands before appealing to the Chantry, Carver drafted a letter to the Wardens. He detailed his situation and said, as politely as he could, that he would not be returning to them until his work with the newly born Inquisition was done, pointing out the similarities between this Breach and a Blight. He didn’t expect they would miss him, he was only a Warden among Wardens. He entrusted the letter to Josephine, who assured him it would be delivered.

Carver wasn’t sure what to think about the whole ‘Inquisition’ business. He couldn’t see how one more faction vying for dominance would help, but he didn’t question the others on it. They were following out the dead Divine’s orders and he seemed to be the only one (silently) questioning the wisdom of it. What he didn’t question was the necessity of gaining strength. If they were going to be the only ones to attempt to close the Breach and keep the demons back—because the Chantry, templars, and mages were too busy with their heads up their asses—then they would need soldiers, weapons, and horses at the very least.

They planned to set out the next day. Carver didn’t want to sit and rest, Solas’ ‘concern’ be damned. He had never done well when idle.

That evening Cassandra descended upon him at the small house in Haven they had given him. He was sitting on the thin bed when the knock sounded at the door. He should have seen it coming, she was stubborn to boot and she didn’t come off as the sort of person to let sleeping dogs lie.

“Come in,” he called. The door creaked open followed by the stiff form of Cassandra. The door squeaked closed behind her.

“I need to speak to you about The Champion.” She said. Carver hated that title but bit back the annoyance.

“I still don’t know where he is,” he said wearily, knowing that wouldn’t be enough for her.

“We need him,” she said. “I was trying to contact him before. I thought he could mediate between the mages and the templars at the conclave, and perhaps take leadership of the Inquisition. We need a strong leader.”

Carver glared at the floor for a moment before flicking his eyes back up. “The last time I saw my brother was back in Kirkwall.” He said. “I do not know where he is, and I don’t think he would be pleased to hear someone looking for his leadership,” He sneered.

“Surely if he knew of our plight he would see reason,” Cassandra began, ready to plow forward with her reasons and her justifications.

“Look,” Carver said, straightening. “Garrett doesn’t need to be bothered. He already saved Kirkwall’s sorry hide and look where it got him: hiding and on the run from the Chantry and the templars both—even though he saved the templars as much as the mages. The last thing he needs is to become the leader of a heretical group challenging the Chantry’s authority.”

“But he is the only one who can lead us,” she said with such conviction that Carver’s skin prickled. “He has the experience, he was able to toe the line in Kirkwall despite being an apostate. The mages respect him and some templars know enough to respect him as well. He knows how to lead.”

“Garrett can’t lead.” Carver snapped. “He had a group of friends willing to follow him to their own deaths, and he had the money and influence to make Meredith willing to ignore him, for a time.”

“I see.” Cassandra said stiffly.

“It seems you will have to deal with the second best Hawke.” Carver said.

Cassandra said nothing, watching him for a long moment with her stony face and hard eyes. “Good evening. Herald.” He watched her leave.

Carver shed his armor and clothing, slipping into the bed tense and agitated, the whispers licking at his mind. It had started shortly after he’d left Kirkwall. All of the Wardens suddenly hearing the Calling no matter how long they’d been a Warden for. The only thing that had stopped him from completely panicking like his fellows was the fact that he had heard this calling before. Once. He had been in Kirkwall by chance when the Carta had tried to assassinate them both. Garrett and Carver had tracked the dwarves to an old Warden prison where that old blighted monster was held prisoner.

He could remember the whispers he’d heard in that place, that Anders had heard in that place. They had affected the mage so much that he’d lost control of himself like the abomination he was and they’d had to subdue him. But in that one case, Carver had understand Anders’ fear. The voices of darkspawn licking the edges of his mind and one voice in particular hissing above the rest, a voice he could almost make out…

As soon as they had killed the thing that had laid entombed in that place the whispers had quieted back down to their usual volume and that was that.

Carver had told his superiors of what he’d found in that place. He told them of the Wardens that had wanted to try and control the monster to harness its power, and how the monster seemed to speak in his mind, amplifying the usually quiet whispers of the darkspawn. The Wardens were somewhat disquieted by what he’d told them but the monster had been dead and they had thought nothing of it until over a year later when all the Wardens could hear the calling, and Carver had pointed out that it sounded exactly like what he’d heard before.

Hence him attending the Conclave, intending to find a few high-ranking non-Warden mages to investigate the problem.

Carver squeezed his eyes shut and tried to shove the hissing back, pretending he couldn’t almost understand what they were saying.

* * *

The Hinterlands turned out to be chaos. After over a week of travel on the only miserable horses the Inquisition could find, they were greeted by mages and templars killing people indiscriminately on sight. They rested at a camp one of their scouts had set up and were on their way, leaving the poor horses to rest. Fighting through crazed mages and templars, they eventually made their way to the Crossroads.

The Crossroads was filled with starving, injured citizens, protected by a meager force of soldiers and, to Carver’s surprise, mages. As they located Mother Giselle, Carver saw her convince an injured templar let a mage heal him, a feat in itself. The Mother Giselle was polite enough, seeming genuine in her want to help them and Carver, despite the rumors surrounding Carver and the Inquisition.

Mother Giselle’s only advice was to make some of the templars and Chantry members in Val Royeaux doubt the heretical nature of the Inquisition, and of himself. Being called the Herald of Andraste did him no favors with the Chantry and they had denounced him as a heretic and a monster, but Mother Giselle assured him that some of them would see that the Inquisition was not what their Chantry and templars would have them believe.

They spent two weeks in the Hinterlands cleaning the place up. It had Carver feeling nostalgic, Varric telling stories at the camp at night, an apostate elf nearby and a quiet warrior. Carver wondered where his brother was, what he was doing. He hadn’t heard from him since Kirkwall and for all Carver knew he could be dead, or worse. Carver shied away from that thought. He wondered if Varric was still in touch with Garrett. He remembered Cassandra saying Varric didn’t know, but Carver knew Varric well enough to know he could have lied quite convincingly, probably had for the same reasons Carver would have.

By the end of their stay they had secured the crossroads some. They had  _subdued_ both the mages and the templars, closed some rifts, and secured horses for the Inquisition. Horses that were  _much_ better than the ones they rode in on. They left the Crossroads in better shape then when they arrived.

They made it back to Haven a couple days faster than they would have with the old horses—just under a week. Carver stabled his horses and made his way into Haven and the Chantry to convene the war council and have a look at their options before he retired for the day. They discussed their trip to Val Royeaux, planning to head out in a few days, letting the horses—and themselves—have a much needed rest.

Carver did what he could around Haven, not one to do nothing. He gathered potion ingredients for the apothecary (why the man couldn’t venture outside the walls and gather those thing  _himself_ he didn’t know), sparred with Cassandra, helped Cullen with the new recruits, helped get the horses settled when their new horsemaster, Dennet, arrived with the Inquisitions horses, and just stayed busy. In the evenings he’d drink with Varric and pass stories. He had plenty of new ones since he’d joined the Wardens and especially delighted in telling Varric about his excursions into the Deep Roads, watching the dwarfs morbid curiosity and disquiet at his tales.

The night before they left for Val Royeaux Carver finally asked Varric the thing that had been on his mind.

“I know you told Cassandra you don’t know where my brother is,” Carver said quietly. There was no one around Varric’s little fire, Cassandra and most of the others likely already in bed. “But, do you?”

Varric was quiet for a moment. Carver was reasonably sure that Varric wouldn’t lie to him.

Varric sighed and took a gulp of his ale. He surreptitiously looked around to make sure there was no one else around. “Kinda.” He said slowly, quietly. At Carver’s raised eyebrows he clarified, “I vaguely know where he is. Generally. Sometimes anyway. He moves around a lot.” Carver drank deeply from his cup, feeling empty. “I don’t really know where he is right now. But I know how to contact him.” Varric shrugged. “My people find him. He leaves signs for us.”

“Where do you think he is?” Carver asked. Varric shrugged again.

“Last I heard from him was a couple months ago.” Varric said. “He was somewhere east, away from any towns for obvious reasons… Who knows where he is now.”

They lapsed back into silence, each wallowing in their own thoughts. “We may hear from him soon,” Varric said, Carver’s eyes snapping to him. “I sent out a letter weeks ago. I’m sure he’ll send one back.”

* * *

It took two weeks to get to Val Royeaux. The four of them, along with a few soldiers, took the highway through the mountains and along the Waking Sea before crossing in a small ship. They camped outside Val Royeaux getting some much needed rest after the ship, which hadn’t settled with Carver or Varric very well.

To say their visit didn’t go as expected would be an understatement. They hadn’t even gotten a chance to have a proper discussion before the Chantry was denouncing them and ordering the templars to arrest them, and then the templars abandoned the Chantry and Val Royeaux along with it. When they returned to Haven Carver would send some soldier to Val Royeaux to defend them now that the templars were gone. The Inquisition might not have many soldiers to be giving away but this would serve to gain influence with the Orlesians, something the Inquisition desperately needed.

During their brief stay they ended up recruiting a couple of people to their cause: an insane rogue elf that Carver could barely understand but for some reason wanted to help them, and a loyalist mage that left a bad taste in Carver’s mouth. The last thing they got, and perhaps the most important, was an invitation to the mages holed up in Redcliffe Castle by the Grand Enchanter Fiona herself. Carver found her to be polite and professional, a leg up over the Lord Seeker who’d punched a Revered Mother in the mouth.

Back in Haven he gathered the war counsel as soon as his horse was stabled. When it came to discussing who to go to about the Breach it nearly devolved into argument. Cassandra and Cullen preferred the templars and Josephine the mages while Leliana remained neutral. Carver thought the mages seemed like the better option but kept his thoughts to himself for the time being.

Once they’d dispersed, Leliana was the only one who remained.

“There is something I need to discuss with you,” she said. Carver straightened, at the ready for whatever it was the spymaster wished to discuss without the others. “A couple of months ago I tried to contact the Grey Wardens in both Ferelden and Orlais, but it seems they both have vanished.” Carver frowned. “I wouldn’t normally suspect them but the timing is…suspicious. You are a Grey Warden, might you know where they have disappeared to?”

Carver thought but couldn’t come up with anything. Now that she’d mentioned it, he never did receive a return letter from the Wardens himself, which was odd. “No, I don’t.” He said.

“You said the Wardens sent you to the conclave to observe the proceedings,” Leliana said carefully. “Was that the only reason why you were there?”

Carver paused for a moment, considering his answer. He didn’t want to tell them about the calling, he didn’t want to give them a reason to watch him more carefully than they already did. But the calling could be the reason all the Wardens had gone—to where, though, he couldn’t guess.

“I was supposed to get the help of some mages, to serve as advisers of sorts.” Carver said finally. “We were experiencing a problem and needed an outside opinion.”

“Might this ‘problem’ be the reason all the Wardens have disappeared?” Leliana asked.

“It’s possible,” Carver allowed.

“Keeping secrets from me is not wise, especially if it could impact our work with the Breach.” Leliana said, eyes hard.

Carver grit his teeth. If he didn’t tell her she would keep a closer eye on him than if he’d just spill.

“A Grey Warden can sense the darkspawn,” Carver said slowly. “We can hear them but it’s usually faint and most can’t understand them unless they’ve been in the order for a long time. But when the end of our life is near, they sort of get louder and clearer. That’s usually the cue for a Warden to travel to the deep roads to die.” Carver remembered learning all of this right before leaving for the Conclave. The Wardens kept too many secrets, even from themselves. “But a few months before the Conclave, everyone began to hear it, new Wardens and old ones. We were trying to find out why.”

Leliana remained impassive through all this.

“I don’t think the Wardens had anything to do with the Conclave or the Breach.” Carver continued. “I was the only Warden sent there.” There was silence for a time.

“Thank you for your honesty, Herald.” Leliana said finally.

“You understand,” Carver said, “to use discretion with the information I’ve just shared. The Wardens keep their secrets close.”

Leliana nodded. “Of course.”

Carver nodded, ready to leave the stifling confines of the Chantry building. “If that was all…?”

“There was one more thing,” Leliana said. “I’ve managed to track down a Warden in the Hinterlands. I was hoping you might contact him and find out if he has any further information on the Wardens.”

Carver nodded. “Of course.”

“Thank you.” She said, leaving.

Carver sighed in relief, scrubbing his face. He felt heavy and tired, it seemed that he hadn’t had a moments rest since the Conclave. He left the Chantry building planning to get some food and then retiring early when Varric caught him just outside the Chantry door.

“Carver,” he said.

“Varric,” Carver said, weary.

Varric took Carver’s arm, pulling him around the Chantry building.

“Varric, what—”

“Wait,” Varric said, leading him behind the Chantry building. When they were out of sight from anyone else Varric let go and turned to Carver who was wondering what was going on.

Varric looked tense and stressed, rubbing his forehead with a hand.

“What is going on?” Carver asked, quiet though.

“It seems our mutual friend decided to turn up for a visit.” Varric muttered, not meeting Carver’s eyes.

“Mutual friend?” Carver asked in confusion.

A hiss of breath left the dwarf. “Your damned brother, Carver. He decided to turn up. If I knew the bastard was going to come I would have never sent that bloody letter…” he trailed off. Carver was speechless. “Makers bloody balls, Cassandra is going to kill me.”

“He’s here?” Carver asked, not quite believing it.

“Yep,” Varric said. “Says he got here a few days ago but didn’t approach Haven properly until he saw us return. Got my messenger to bring him all the way here and notify me as soon as I entered the gates. How the bastard managed to convince him to do  _that_ …”

“Where is he now?”

“Still on the outskirts. I wasn’t going to bring him here yet! The Seeker will have my head.” Carver didn’t think Cassandra would  _actually_ kill him. Probably.

“Well,” Carver said, impatient. “Lead on.”

Varric lead him out of Haven, down one of the path before veering off into some trees on the edges. They walked for a few minutes and Carver’s heart was pounding. He hadn’t seen his brother in months, hadn’t even been sure he was alive. Anything could happen to an apostate, especially with the way the templars were acting if the Hinterlands were anything to go by. He wondered where his brother had been hiding this whole time.

“Garrett, it’s me and Junior,” Varric called, using that annoying nickname.

There was a crunch of leaves some ways ahead of them and a familiar form appeared from around a tree, staff in hand.

“Carver,” came the familiar voice as the shadow stepped towards them.

Carver paused as he was able to make out the loose robes his brother wore—worn with scrapes and holes and unraveling threads. His hair was uncharacteristically tousled, beard scruffier than it should be, but still undeniably Garrett as his eyes crinkled at the corners in a familiar smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Edited 8/9/15 Changed how and when Garret makes his appearance and got into some other stuff. Also, I think the travel times should make more sense from here on out thanks to a commenter who gave plenty of help! Thanks! For reference I've made Haven about 300 miles from the Hinterlands.]
> 
> And Garrett makes his appearance!
> 
> So, about Carver fighting Corypheus with Garrett. In my play through of DA2 I had played the dlc after the end of the game, so I was able to take Warden!Carver with me. That’s pretty much my canon of it. I decided to keep it similar in the story, though putting the events of the dlc before the end of DA2 cause it makes more sense.
> 
> I’m trying to skim over the mundane game events a bit more, we all know what happens so I don’t want to bore everyone with every little detail. I’m experimenting a little bit cause I’m unused to kinda skipping over things like that and feel awkward doing it. I hope it reads fine!
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed! Again, I proofread it and didn’t see anything but don’t be afraid to let me know if you spot something weird! Comments are always welcome!


	3. The Champion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***IMPORTANT!! I majorly updated chapter 2 on 8/9/15!! If you haven't read the updated version you need to, it's about twice as long now. I changed how and when Carver and Garrett meet and got into some other stuff.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy this chapter!
> 
> [8/11/15 Minor edits to word choices and paragraphs.]

“Garrett,” Carver said as his brother approached. His brother was worn from travel but uninjured and alive, thank the Maker. He wasn’t strung up by some rogue templars, he didn’t have a tranquil brand stamped on his forehead. He was alive and in good health. That relieved Carver more than he would admit.

Garrett clasped him in a one armed hug, giving him a strong pat on the back that Carver returned. “It seems my little brother has been busy,” Garrett said, pulling back and getting a good look at him. “The Herald of Andraste.” There was a sparkle of laughter in his eyes.

Carver gave a snort. “Surely you don’t believe that, brother.” He said.

“I don’t know,” Garrett mused. “After seeing the ruins of the temple myself it’s difficult to believe anyone could survive that. Although, perhaps I don’t have the full story. I wasn’t able to get much out of Varric’s acquaintance,” he said, glancing sidelong at Varric.

“I’m surprised you convinced him to lead you all the way here,” Varric said. “How  _did_ you manage that?”

“You know how persuasive I can be,” Garrett chuckled. “And the gold didn’t hurt.”

“I didn’t know my agents could be bought so easily.” Varric grumbled.

“Nonsense,” Garrett said. “He saw the wisdom in accompanying me back instead of leaving me to my own devices. I may also have suggested it’d be in his best interests.” Garrett’s eyes turned back to Carver before Varric could respond, curiosity lighting them. “How did you survive that?”

Carver shrugged. “I can’t remember. Everyone says I stepped out a fade rift.”

“Wasn’t there something about a mark?” Garrett asked. “There was something about that in the letter.”

Carver raised his left hand, palm up. Dim green light traced his hand like spiderwebs, little hairline cracks that converged in the middle. Garrett took his hand turning it this way and that, tracing the lines lightly with his fingertips making Carver’s hand tingle. The green magic brightened with each little touch. “I’m able to close rifts with it.” Carver said. “Somehow.” Garrett hummed in response, looking at his hand a moment longer before releasing it. Carver knew that Garrett wanted to study it longer, perhaps prod at it with his magic. Garrett was curious that way. He like to unravel mysteries, make them bend to his will and lay out their secrets for him.

“It is good to see you again, Garrett.” Carver said, a bit of his relief creeping out without his permission. Garrett’s lips quirked, expression softening somewhat. “You as well, brother.”

“Now,” Garrett said, looking between Varric and Carver. “Please tell me you are going to lead me back to Haven and give me somewhere to sleep, hopefully a bed. It has been a dreadfully long time since I’ve slept in a proper one. And it  _is_ getting dark.”

Carver nodded his assent at the same time Varric groaned.

“You know,” Varric said, halfheartedly glaring at Garrett, “there’s a reason I didn’t want you coming out here. I covered your ass when the Seeker started asking about you and spun a story for her, trying to keep you out of trouble and all, give you some time to relax after the Kirkwall business, and then you just decide to turn up anyway. You realize I’ll be dead by morning? She will kill me.”

Garrett barked a laugh. “What made you believe I would stay out of trouble? You know I’ve never been very good at it. And after hearing that Carver was involved, well,” Garrett’s eyes cut to Carver and he bristled with annoyance. Ever the older brother, of course. “I had to come help.” Garrett ended quietly.

Garrett was always taking responsibility for things that weren’t his to shoulder. Everything, from Bethany to Kirkwall, Carver knew Garrett felt the fault lay with himself. He took the blame for everything, leaving none for anyone else. Least of all Carver.

“I don’t need your protection, brother.” Carver said, the old irritation prickling at his skin. It had been years since he felt it, since becoming a Grey Warden, but it seemed it was quick to reassert itself. Carver breathed, calming himself. His brother  _meant_ well. He  _always_ meant well. “But your help will be appreciated.”

No matter how much Carver might dislike it on some level, the Inquisition needed more good people. He could not turn his brother away out of an old sibling rivalry. Garrett was skilled, Garrett was accustomed to odd situations (Maker knows he’d encountered enough in Kirkwall), and Carver knew it would be idiocy to push him away out of old spite.

Garrett nodded slowly in acknowledgment before turning to Varric. “Perhaps we should meet this Seeker of yours,” Garrett smirked, “get it out of the way and end the suspense.”

“Really?” Varric said. “You want to watch me get strangled by a Seeker? After I tried to save your sorry ass?”

“You know I love to be entertained,” Garrett said.

Varric looked up at the darkened sky in a considering manner. “She might have already retired into Haven,” Varric said. “We can probably get you in there without her noticing… And it’s unlikely that anyone will recognize you.”

* * *

Unfortunately, they underestimated Cassandra’s dedication to the sword, or perhaps she was in a mood and trying to get it out of her system in the only way she knew how. Whatever the reason, she was in front of Havens gates hacking at a wooden prop as they approached. “Shit,” Varric hissed and Carver couldn’t help but silently agree. Cassandra had a temper and he had been hoping to deal with it the next day after he’d had some sleep.

“Herald,” Cassandra greeted as they approached, savagely yanking her sword out of the wooden likeness of a soldier. “Varric,” his name grudgingly, with the undertone of disgust that was ever present when speaking to him, or about him. She noticed Garrett. “And who is…?”

Carver took the lead. “My brother, Garrett Hawke,” He said. Cassandra stilled, eyes widening.

“Good evening, Seeker Pentaghast,” Garrett said politely, stepping forward and giving a little bow.

“The Champion?” Cassandra asked, face slack. “But when—how—” Cassandra’s eyes flashed to Carver, and then to Varric and her eyes filled with fire as they landed on the dwarf. Carver looked to Varric, who stared back at the Seeker in challenge.

“I arrived a few days ago but didn’t approach.” Garrett said. “I wasn’t sure how they would react to an apostate.”

Cassandra’s eyes snapped back to Garrett. “You are the Champion of Kirkwall, they would never harm you,” she said, voice appalled.

“That is good to hear,” Garrett said with an easy smile.

“If you don’t mind, Cassandra,” Carver said, not wanting this to last longer than necessary—he  _was_ tired given nearly two weeks of travel by horseback and sleeping in tents.

“Oh, of course,” Cassandra said, seeming flustered. She sheathed her sword and walked with them to Haven.

“I don’t believe we have an open house for you, Champion, but that should be arranged tomorrow, of course,” Cassandra said.

“That’s no trouble,” Garrett said. “A tent will do.”

Cassandra looked positively dismayed at his words. “I’m sure we can find something better. I will—” Carver could hear it coming. He knew what she was about to do, she was about to offer up her own bed for the ‘Champion.’

“He can take my bed for the night, of course,” Carver interrupted, saving Garrett from attempting to decline Cassandra’s impending offer. She was stubborn and wouldn’t have given Garrett the chance to say no. She looked ready to protest, ‘Herald’ on her lips. “It’s no trouble.” He said firmly.

As they entered Haven Carver gestured to their left. “The house is down that way, right at the end.” Carver said, silently urging Garrett with his eyes to go, and Garrett raised his eyebrows a bit, looking amused, but complied. The three of them watched him leave. As soon as Garrett entered the little house Cassandra rounded on Varric.

“You conniving little shit,” she snarled, advancing on him. “You knew where the Champion was all along!”

“Damn right I did,” Varric snarled right back at her, though he did take a few steps back from her. “After kidnapping and interrogating me, what did you expect?” Cassandra threw a punch and Varric ducked.

“Whoa,” Carver said. This was not how they should be acting in front of the rest of Haven—the citizens and soldiers shouldn’t see their superiors coming to blows like this. “That’s enough!”

“Of course you’re taking his side,” Cassandra said, turning towards Carver. “Did you know where he was, ‘Herald?’”

Carver stared evenly at her. “I did not lie,” Carver said, “but it doesn’t matter. We are all on the same side.”

“We needed the Champion,” Cassandra said, fingers twitching. “We needed him at the Conclave. If anyone could have stopped it all from happening—if anyone could have saved Most Holy—”

“Varric isn’t to blame for the Conclave,” Carver said. “He was protecting my brother from another cause that he didn’t need to be involved in. I certainly cannot fault him for that.” At his words all the fight seemed to leave Cassandra, her arms hung limply at her sides, her ingrained training seeming the only thing keeping her standing straight. She looked at the ground.

“You know what I think?” Varric said from where he stood a few paces away, eyes burning, face dark. “If Garrett had been at the temple, he’d be dead too. You people have done enough to him.” He strode off in the direction of his tent, leaving the two of them.

“I believed him,” she said softly, still looking at the dirt. “He spun his story, and I swallowed it. If I’d only explained what was at stake… If I’d just made him understand…”

“Then Garrett could be dead,” Carver said shortly, feeling cold at the thought. He silently thanked the Maker that Varric hadn’t cracked, and that the Seeker hadn’t thought to explain things to Varric. “It’s no use dwelling on the what ifs.” Carver said, reminding himself as much as her.

“You are right, of course.” Cassandra said, eyes rising to meet his. “I’m sorry to trouble you, Herald. I won’t keep you any longer.”

“Goodnight, Seeker.”

Carver watched her leave to the Chantry building where she had a small room. He sighed, hoping that would be the end of it and made his way to the requisitions officer, requesting blankets. He would need them. He could allow his brother his bed for a night or two while Carver slept on the floor. Garrett had looked truly tired, a bone deep weariness. Carver thought of Garrett’s worn robes. He would need something better. Carver was certain they had something from their wanderings in the Hinterlands.

When Carver made his way into the little house there was a candle lit and Garrett was standing in the center of the room. He had set his staff aside, leaned up against the wall next to Carver’s sword. With a pang, Carver remembered the sword he’d had before this madness. He’d had it since before the Grey Wardens; his brother had given it to him. It had been the only familiar thing in his new life and it’d been a good sword—he’d never had need for another one. He wondered if he’d somehow lost it at the conclave or if it had been confiscated when he’d been apprehended afterwords.

Garrett turned to him. “Nice place.” He said, a small curve of lips. They both knew it was smaller than their uncles place in Lowtown had been. Really, the ‘house’ was more of a glorified shack, but it served.

“It isn’t your manor in Hightown,” Carver agreed.

“Better than the dirt I’ve been sleeping on for the last few months,” Garrett pointed out.

Carver’s eyes flicked over his brother, taking in his appearance again. He couldn’t see much, the light of the candle casting little more than shadows, but he could see the way weariness clung to his brother in the way he stood. Carver walked further into the room, dropping the furs next to the wall and spreading them out across the floor.

“You can sleep in your own bed, Carver.” Garrett said from overhead.

Carver grunted, looking up from where he knelt on the ground. “You said yourself you wanted a bed to sleep in,” Carver said lightly. Garrett looked like he was about to protest, and Carver felt that prickle of irritation again. “It will only be for a night or so,” Carver said firmly. “I’m sure the Seeker will find something for you soon. She would never let the ‘Champion’ have less than the best.”

Garrett snorted. “How did that go?” He asked, moving away from Carver and sitting heavily on the bed, thankfully not willing to push Carver any further over it.

“She tried to punch Varric in the face,” Carver said, feeling that about summed up the encounter.

Garrett gave a low whistle. “She does seem like a fiery one.”

They lapsed into silence. Carver unlatched his armor and rested it all at the foot of his pallet of blankets and furs. It was cooler than he’d like on the floor but it wasn’t unbearable. He laid back on the blankets covering himself up in them. He turned his head over to Garrett who was sat up in the bed, under the covers. He’d removed the outer portions of his robes leaving him in a loose shirt. He was watching Carver in a listless manner.

“Garrett?” Carver asked. His brothers eyes cleared and blinked, seeming to come back to himself.

“Ah,” his brother said. “Sorry.” He was quiet for a moment, eyes turning down to the blankets, his light, joking manner gone. He simply looked tired, empty. There was no hint of a smile on his face, no gleam in his eyes, and that, more than anything, worried Carver.

“Are you alright?” Carver asked, propping himself up on an elbow, studying his brother from where he lie on the floor.

Garrett shook his head, not in answer but as if to clear it. “It’s been a long few months.” Garrett said slowly. “I’ve been traveling by myself for so long…” He trailed off. “I think I’m unused to the company, is all.”

Carver frowned at his brother. “You’ll probably feel better after some sleep,” he said. Garrett nodded, casting his eyes to Carver, then to the candle before leaning over and snuffing it out with his fingers. Carver settled back down and listened to his brother rustle about the bed, getting comfortable. Silence fell, finally.

“I’m glad you’re alive,” Garrett’s quiet voice said. “When I got that letter from Varric, the way it all sounded, I thought you might be dead by the time I got here.” Carver frowned at his words, wondering when, exactly, Varric had sent that letter. Had it been while he was unconscious, all those weeks ago?

“I’m fine, now,” Carver said needlessly. Silence falling once more, Carver’s own worries suddenly spilled out without him meaning to. “I was worried about you. I thought you may have been captured. Killed or…worse.” Silence.

“I’m fine, now,” his own word echoed back to him. It was perhaps the most frightening thing Garrett could have said.

“Now?” Carver asked, body tense, turning over to look towards the lump in the bed.

There came a sigh. “I was captured a couple months ago.” Garrett said, making Carver’s blood freeze. “But, I escaped.” Carver’s teeth was clenched. He wanted to ask for details but he could feel Garrett’s reluctance, so, with some effort, he let it lie.

After a few moments of silence Carver let out the breath he’d been holding and forced himself to relax. There was no point in worrying over something that had already happened—at least, not if he wanted to sleep. “Goodnight, brother.” He sighed, and got a murmured reply from his brother who already sounded halfway asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, they finally meet! I hope you guys like how I handled it. They're not very antagonistic at this point. In the video game, it seemed that Carver outgrew his inferiority complex during his time with the Wardens, so they should be on reasonably good terms at this point.
> 
> The Hawke I played was mostly Humorous with a bit of Diplomatic and very rarely Aggressive. I might try to reflect that here, dunno how I've done so far. I really don't know if I can manage writing Humorous very well... Another thing I'll see if I can do, I suppose!
> 
> Also, I don't know who would deal with things like handing out blankets and supplies and such so I just went with the requisitions officer. It seemed plausible enough to me.
> 
> I've already started on chapter 4 so it shouldn't be too long before that's out, maybe a couple days.
> 
> Thank you guys for the comments and kudos, they make me happy!
> 
> Hope everyone's coming off as reasonably in character so far! I proofread a number of times but don't be afraid to let me know if I missed something. Comments--and constructive criticism--are always welcome!


	4. Relearning How

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, that took longer than expected. Hope you guys like!

There were voices all around him, in his head and his ears. Bodies pressed against him, he was only one among thousands. He couldn’t understand what any of them were saying, couldn’t understand the voices in his head, but he knew he had to find it, they were all searching for it, endlessly.

A part of him was frightened, fear rippling through him but it didn’t stop him, it didn’t stop  _them_. Nothing could stop them. It was their sole purpose in this world and they worked with unparalleled single-mindedness towards their goal.

Suddenly, one voice rose among the others and he inwardly cowered before it, but none of the others seemed to notice, and his body kept up its endless searching despite the fear in his mind.

“ ** _You are a fool_**.” The voice hissed, garbled and difficult to make out. The sounds around him grew in volume but he couldn’t understand them, a cacophony of noise so loud he couldn’t think.

“ ** _You are a fool, Carver._** ” It said again.

Carver felt fear strike him like a sword through the gut. He couldn’t control his body, or scream, or even breathe. He was locked in his body, which moved of its own volition, his mind warring with itself and the urge he felt to  _search_.

“ ** _You think you can deny a God?_** ” The voice rumbled like the sound boulders grinding against each other.

“ _ **Carver**_ ,” The voice growled his name. “ ** _Carver. Carver! CARVER—_** ”

“Carver!”

Carver’s eyes snapped open. He felt hands at his shoulders, saw a shadow bent over him and he jerked up, slamming the shadow down against the ground, twisting over his assailant, chest heaving, breathing in glorious air as the shadow struggled beneath him. He held the shadow down with a hand against a shoulder and a forearm against a neck.

“Carver,” came the chocked voice. A familiar voice. Carver blinked, glaring down. He blinked again as the shadow slowly resolved itself into a solid human form. Garrett.

A burst of purple electricity shocked through him and he released his brother, the mark on his hand letting off a green glow from the shock. Carver scrambled off, still gasping, and collapsed onto his back on the floor.

“Garrett?” He asked weakly. “Maker…” breath, “are you—did I—”

“I’m fine,” Garrett said warily, on the floor next to him. Carver watched him, fear sitting in his belly like a stone, leftover from the dream. Garrett watched him right back, eyes cautious.

“By the Maker,” Garrett said. “What in the void  _was_ that?”

Carver closed his eyes, shaking his head, attempting to clear it. “Nightmare,” he said, breath slowing down marginally. “Darkspawn.”

“Darkspawn?” His brother asked in confusion and Carver winced, because his brother didn’t know, of course.

“Grey Warden thing,” Carver said dismissively, except it didn’t come out that way with his panting breaths.

“Grey Warden thing?” His brother repeated. Carver kept his eyes closed as his breathing kept slowing and his heart quit pounding quite so fast and the knot of fear started to ease up.

That had been—bad. Worse than any nightmare he’d had and they’d been terrible in the beginning. And—Carver shivered—that was the first time he’d understood anything before. The details were already blurring away the way they always did, leaving behind nothing but the fear, the panic.  _Had_ he understood anything? The only thing he could now remember was that he’d heard his name within the dream. He could still hear a voice growling it in some unfathomable tenor. And that was terrifying. Except—no. Garrett had been calling his name. Perhaps reality had simply bled over into the nightmare. That thought was relieving.

When Carver had calmed down some and felt more in control of himself he spoke. “The Grey Wardens can hear the darkspawn,” Carver explained into the silence, staring up at the ceiling. His brother shifted next to him, waiting. “It’s usually just some whispers in the back of our heads, with a nightmare here and there, but a few months ago all the Wardens began to hear the Calling.” Carver kept his eyes on the ceiling as he explained, not sure what his brother’s reaction would be.

“The Calling is when the whispers get louder,” Carver continued. “It means a Wardens time is coming, and that they need to travel to the deep roads to die.” Carver was met with silence. “Usually it’s only the older Wardens that hear it. But everyone was hearing it. That’s how I ended up at the temple. We needed some outside mages to help us figure out what was going on.”

“It’s the same thing I heard when we went to that Warden prison,” Carver admitted, looking at his brother who was watching him with a closed expression. “When we found that darkspawn. That’s why I don’t think this Calling is true.” Except somewhere in the back of Carver’s mind he worried that it  _was_ true. That his time was coming. It felt like he’d been on borrowed time ever since joining the Grey Wardens, and in a way it was true.

“We’ll figure out what’s going on.” Garrett said steadily, eyes hard and focused on Carver.

Carver prayed to the Maker his brother was right. He had to believe it. Because if he did not, there was only one other explanation and it wasn’t one that Carver wanted to consider. The idea of becoming a darkspawn wasn’t an appealing one. Looking into his brother’s hard eyes he could almost believe his brother’s words, was almost willing to faithfully follow him like he had for so long, to let his brother take care of things the way he always used to.

But that time was long gone. Carver was no longer the same person he had once been and neither was Garrett. They had both changed in their years apart, and Carver could feel those years stretch between them, a thin line of tension. Carver didn’t quite know what to make of his brother. Garrett was both who he remembered and not. Garrett still looked the same, still had that easy manner of his, but he seemed quieter. Less confident, more cautious. As Carver’s eyes traced over his brother’s face he saw a weariness there that would not leave with sleep, new wrinkles, new shadows lurking in his eyes—all the things he’d been through while Carver was gone.

“What happened when you were captured?” Carver asked. Maybe he should have left it alone, at least until morning proper, but he’d just spilled Warden secrets. Again. And Carver wanted—he wanted to bridge the gap. The chasm of time between them was filled with years of experiences that they should have shared but had been forced to shoulder alone, and he needed to lessen it. He needed to know what had happened to his brother.

Garrett finally looked away from Carver, up towards the dark ceiling. Carver studied his brother’s face in the silence, the shadows that gathered under his eyes, the faint silver gleam of moonlight that sliced through the window and teased the shadows on his face.

“It was templars,” Garrett murmured, seeming unwilling to break the silence. “I had been careless. I had stayed in one place for too long. They caught me and I was unable to resist. I’m lucky that my reputation precedes me,” Garrett smiled grimly, “else they would have killed me on the spot. Instead they were going to take me to their superiors. I think they were going to make an example out of me for the rebel mages…” He trailed off. Carver shivered to hear how close Garrett had come. “But they had been careless.” Garrett continued. “I was able to escape my bindings one night when they were sleeping. It was only dumb luck.”

They fell into silence. The tension hadn’t eased only changed, the knowledge of what might have been hung over them both. Eventually, Garrett pushed up off the floor and made his way to the bed. It didn’t take long for his brother’s breathing to even out and then Carver’s shortly after.

* * *

When Carver woke the next day his brother was gone. Carver blinked against the early morning light pouring through the window before sitting and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He stood and methodically put his armor on, sliding his sword into the sheath across his back. If there was one thing he’d learned from life in Kirkwall and then the Wardens it was to always wear armor and always have a weapon at hand.

He wondered where Garrett had gotten to and stepped outside intent on finding him. Instead he got dragged into helping Cullen with new recruits (for morale, he said, eyes gleaming), where Cassandra was in her usual spot hacking a dummy to pieces.

“We’re going to have to make more of those if she keeps it up,” Cullen muttered beside him, “I think she’s already hacked through ten of the buggers.” Carver huffed in amusement. When Cassandra spotted them Cullen moved off to the recruits.

“Herald,” Cassandra said, sheathing her sword and meeting him by one of the tents.

“Seeker,” Carver replied with a quirk of a smile. If she couldn’t use his name he wouldn’t use hers either. She was too set in her training to allow herself to do otherwise.

“I have inquired into a house but it seems there is none,” Cassandra said without preamble. “All the rooms in the chantry have been filled as well. I will be more than happy to give the Champion my room while I take a tent.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Carver said. “The house I’m in can fit another bed.”

“The Herald shouldn’t—”

“The _Herald_ will do what he needs to do for his own brother.” Carver cut her off. Her mouth snapped shut. “That house is plenty big enough, I hardly use all the space.”

“You’re right, of course.” Cassandra said, eyes downcast. “I will let the requisitions officer know what you need.” Carver took it for the apology it was and nodded to her. He made his way to Cullen where he stood before the recruits and lent his help for the day.

It turned out that training recruits was irritating. With the Wardens he’d done very little teaching. Most of the people that came to them were already competent in a fight. He didn’t realize how much new recruits didn’t know. They didn’t know how to stand, how to hold a sword, how to swing a sword—he was surprised that they knew which end of a sword to hold. He had to give Cullen credit, having to deal with that everyday would drive Carver insane. Even so, he helped Cullen until early evening when he took his leave.

When Carver stepped through Haven’s gates he saw his brother sitting with Varric across the fire by the dwarf’s tent. He was pleased to see that his brother had taken the opportunity to clean himself up. He was clean, his beard trimmed, and his hair brushed. Someone had shown him to their spoils from the Hinterlands as he was wearing new armor—and it was  _armor_ , spiked metal going down his right arm, a large steel piece jutting out from his chest, and metal greaves protecting his legs. His left arm was clad in only a leather gauntlet, chain mail at his left shoulder peeking out from under the fur ruff that curved around his neck. Under all the metal seemed to be a normal mages robe, under which was the mail coat.

He must have mixed and matched armor. There was no mages armor in the Hinterlands—or anywhere in Ferelden— that was so battle ready. Mage robes traditionally never included metal, as if it was a way to offset a mages power by making them simultaneously vulnerable. And, living in the  _circle_ , there was no need for a mage to have such protections. Garrett looked at home in the armor

“Helping Knight-Captain Rutherford?” Garrett called to him as he approached. Carver sat down heavily next to him at the fire, letting the warmth wash over him and melt his lingering irritation away. Hearing Cullen’s old title gave him pause. Cullen had seemed to make a point to introduce himself to everyone as Commander Cullen, never Rutherford. Even the rank and file called him by his first name.

“It’s just Commander Cullen now, I think.” Carver said, taking off his gauntlets and then his pauldrons, flexing his fingers and shaking out his shoulders.

“Really?” Garrett asked in surprise, peering out through the gates towards where Cullen would be.

“Curly’s turned over a new leaf,” Varric said. “Saw the templars for what they’d become, after Kirkwall.”

Garrett grunted. “At least some of them can learn to see sense.”

The evening went on from there, Varric procuring ale from somewhere in enough quantities for them to get pleasantly drunk. They fell into a familiar dynamic: Varric telling stories in that way only a seasoned storyteller could, Garrett sharing his exploits in that cocky manner he had, and Carver relaying his more amusing experiences from the Grey Wardens while his brother listened raptly. At some point in the evening Cullen, and even Cassandra, joined them, adding more stories that had them all bursting with laughter. It felt reminiscent to a night at The Hanged Man.

It was late into the night when Cassandra and Cullen bid their goodnights. Varric was the only one still talking. Garrett was dozing, leaning against Carver’s left shoulder pleasantly, his brothers hair tickling his neck. Carver wasn’t doing much better, nearly nodding to sleep himself. When his chin dropped to his chest for the hundredth time he roused himself, blinking. He lifted his left hand to shake his brother awake but ended up patting his head instead, ruffling his brothers hair.

“Hmmph?” Garrett grunted shifting his head.

“Gotta get up,” Carver mumbled tiredly. “It’s to bed with me,” he said to Varric who had been mid-story about something he hadn’t heard a word of. “Thanks for the ale,” Caver said, standing and wobbling just a little bit. “I think,” he added.

“Anytime, Junior,” Varric said, not sounding nearly as drunk as he should have, considering the amount of ale he’d had.

Carver gathered his gauntlets and pauldrons while Garrett got up and dusted himself off and then they walked unsteadily down to the house. Garrett seemed a bit further gone than Carver, periodically bumping into him. When they opened the door Carver was pleased to see an extra bed up against the wall piled with blankets and furs. It looked very inviting.

They both stripped of their armor and fell into their respective beds without a word, sleep taking them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. This chapter took forever. I was getting writers block and pretty much had to shove through it. There were a few false starts with this chapter. And then I finally wrote it and it was terrible so I had to rewrite the whole thing. Believe me it's much better now!
> 
> It could just be me but this chapter seems more text heavy than the previous ones. I think there's more descriptions and such, which I think was missing from the previous chapters. Man is it difficult to get back in the swing of writing after so long.
> 
> I'm also not very comfortable with dialogue. I can never really think of what they should talk about. I tried with this chapter and I think the dialogue (what little there is) is okay. Like seriously, if anyone has pointers or references on how to write dialog, much appreciated!
> 
> Not any plot stuff going on here, but I liked the chapter-I hope you guys do too!
> 
> I'm starting to wonder how slow I can make this slow burn, haha. I'm getting kinda impatient, but I'm going to try. I need the practice.
> 
> Again, no beta reader, but I proofread as best as I could and think I got everything. Don't be afraid to point out anything I missed in the comments! Comments make me happy! Thanks for reading. :)


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